


I'm definitely afraid of this ghost…

by aholtzofmyown



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Holtzmann is a hot gay meanie, Lesbian Character, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Romantic Fluff, kinda rude in places, so gay for Holtzmann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aholtzofmyown/pseuds/aholtzofmyown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rogue ghost leads a native New Yorker to seek help from the Ghostbusters, and when it turns physical, Holtzmann is there to help - sort of. A first-person fic from the point of view of a non-Ghostbuster, devoted to the gorgeous awesomeness of Dr Jillian Holtzmann.   Definitely a slow burn, with some NSFW and hot gay meanie Holtz (thanks to Spooked_Leaf for coining that one!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I’ve always enjoyed a good ghost. That is, until I actually got haunted by one. 

It started fairly innocuously – a noise here, a cold breeze there. I’d wake at 2:00am, hearing banging. First I’d assume it was a door caught in the wind, or the neighbours undertaking late night repairs. After a week or two, it was harder to lie to myself. I’d roam the apartment at night, trying to find the source of the strange sounds resonating within. I’d see doors closing by themselves and thrust them open, armed with a torch and my trusty baseball bat and find… nothing. As time went on, I convinced myself that I was slowly going crazy.

But then, finally, I found an answer. The answer. The “Ghostbusters” saved New York and suddenly my fears seemed less crazy. More realistic. I had a ghost.

After a particularly difficult night when I was woken on the hour, every hour, I called in sick for work. It was time to take action. My fingers hovered over the keypad of my phone, and I willed myself to dial. It’s harder to rationally believe that you’re being haunted in the cold light of day.

Shaking, I finally dialled the number. It rang… and rang… and rang. Finally, a husky male voice announced that I’d reached the “ghost-women… busters”.

“Hi! I have a… ghost?” 

“How may I direction your call?”

“Um… I have a ghost. I need someone to deal with my ghost?”

“Right you are! Hold on a minute while I grab a…”

Then, a dial tone. Right. Maybe they’d quit ghostbusting? But then why not say that over the phone? I summoned my courage, and dialled again.

“Ghostbusting ladies at your service!” The same enthusiastic voice in my ear.

“Hi – I just called! I have a ghost! I need help!”

“Right-O – found a pen – can I confirm your location?” FINALLY! I recited my address and cell over the phone. I heard a loud bang in the background, and a yelp, and then the phone went dead.

Suddenly the phone in my hand transformed from being innocent plastic to scalding hot. I dropped it, my palm burning, and ran to the faucet to rinse it under cold water. Right. Okay. This will be fine. Someone is on their way

I waited two days, and still nothing. I’d taken the week off of work in the expectation of someone, anyone, coming to deal with my supernatural problem – all for nothing. Finally, on the third day, the phone rang.

I picked it up gingerly. “Hello?”

“Hellooooo… is this the haunted residence?”

“What? Who is this?”

“Dr Jillian Holtzmann. Ghostbuster extraordinaire. At your service.”

“Oh. Okay. Right. Does this mean someone’s coming to help me?”

“Possibly. Please confirm the snack situation at your residence? Are there Pringles? I’m really in the mood for some chips.”

What. The. Hell.

I’m being haunted, and she’s worried about snacks? I took a deep breath.

“Look – I have been at home waiting, desperately, for you to show up. I have a ghost who has burned me, kept me up all night, and generally made me miserable. I have had enough. Get here, now, and get rid of this… this… thing!”

“Well now darlin’, don’t get your panties in a twist – we’re on our way.”

And abruptly, again, there was the dial tone. 

Forty minutes later and I’m still pacing the hallway. The buzzer sounds harshly, and I run to the door.

A dark-haired woman pushes past me, all business, brandishing what looks like a space-age pasta fork.

“Where’s the ghost?”

Shocked, I point her towards my bedroom door. She’s quickly followed by a slight red-head. I watch the pair of them wave the pasta-fork around my apartment entrance. 

They’re quickly followed by a tall, black woman who smiles broadly at me. “Happy to be here! Beautiful building. You been here long?” She high-fives me and then joins the others, focused on the pasta fork.

I hear a bang, and then suddenly a petite blonde is bounding up the steps to my apartment, what looks like a modified rifle slung nonchalantly over her shoulders and a bulging beige carry-all loosely clutched in one hand. 

“Rig’s parked!” she yells, then winks at me. She mock-points the rifle at me and then heads into my apartment, patting me on the shoulder reassuringly. What the hell?

I follow the women into my apartment, not sure what to do next. “Can I get you coffee?” I ask, confused. 

“Well darlin’, that’s mighty sweet of you, but we’re just gonna bust and go,” the blonde advises. 

“Right. Of course.” I shuffle into a corner to get out of their way. The pasta fork is spinning and flashing lights in the brunette’s hands. The redhead proceeds into my bedroom while I watch. The air is icy cold and forbidding. Once again, the blonde pats my shoulder, before venturing into the kitchen. The brunette is barking directions, so I do my best to press myself against the wall and let them get on with their work.

Suddenly all activity stops. The pasta fork has stopped moving, and the temperature regulates back to normal. 

“False alarm!” the redhead shouts, striding back down the hallway. Wait, what?

“What’s going on?” I ask, confused. All four are retreating down the hallway, shoving gadgets back into their pockets.

“Ghost’s gone, job done!” smirks the blonde, scratching her head. “Back to the studio!”

“What? But… but you didn’t do anything! It’s still here!”

“There’s no evidence of an ongoing paranormal presence,” states the redhead. “Believe me, if there was a ghost here, we would know.”

“But wait! The fork! It was doing stuff! I know that means something’s going on – you wouldn’t have the fork spinning if there was nothing. There is a ghost here!”

The blonde leans against the wall. “Look. There might be something, but it’s weak. It’s not a problem, it’s not a danger. There’s not even enough oomph in it for us to catch it!” She grins at me and slings her gun back over her shoulder. “Trust me. Nothing to worry about. We’ll waive the call-out charge.”

The four of them file out of the apartment. I linger in the doorway, watching them leave. Guess maybe I am crazy.


	2. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

That night a sharp pain awakens me. I grapple for the clock, and finally find it. Hitting the switch, I focus on the neon numbers. 2:00am. Jesus. 

Another sharp pain in my abdomen leaves me hunched over, gasping. I lift the t-shirt I wear for bed to discover two dark bruises on my stomach. Fuck. I’m now officially scared. I climb out of bed and drag my duvet to the sofa, turning on the lights as I go. I make a nest of the duvet on the sofa and turn on the TV. There’s no way I’m getting back to sleep tonight. 

I’m halfway through a soothing episode of the Gilmore Girls when I feel a tug on my ankle. I shake my foot and dismiss it. 20 minutes later and suddenly I’m violently pulled across the room by my foot, my head smacking the ground. I let out an involuntary shriek, and suddenly my foot is released. 

My vision blurring from tears I dial the number again. It rings for what seems like an eternity. I’m about to give up when I hear a voice shout “Yeawhat?” down the phone.

“Please. You need to come now. You were at my apartment earlier? Well, there’s definitely something here. Please. Please come.”

I hear a deep sigh from the phone. “Please?...” I repeat. “I’ve just been dragged across the room by something I can’t see and I’m scared. So fucking scared.”

“Well, we can’t have that, girl. I’ll come see. Over and out.”

I’m too scared to stay in my apartment, so I drag the duvet out to the hallway and set up camp there. I’ve only been waiting 10 minutes when I hear a soft rapping on the door. Gingerly I ease the door open, and the blonde is there, grinning at me, her bag of tricks looped over her shoulder, and a pistol poking out of her pocket.

“Whassup?” She climbs over my duvet and stands, hands on hips, surveying me. I give her a wobbly smile.

“Just you?” I ask.

“Yup. Last one in the office.” She scratches her head with the butt of her gun and drops the bag inside my doorway. “What’s goin’ on?”

I gather up my duvet, and gesture to her to enter the apartment. She follows me into the bedroom and waits as I return the bedclothes to their rightful place. I take my time, scared that if I show her what the ghost has done she’ll laugh at me or dismiss it. After five minutes of excessive fussing with the pillows, I feel a hand on my shoulder, forcing me to turn around.

The blonde’s face is gentle. “My name’s Dr Jillian Holtzmann. You can trust me – I’m a doctor, and a good listener. The girls’ll kill me if they find out I’m here, so why dontcha tell me what’s going on? And fast, before they work out I took the car!”

I take a deep breath, and lift the hem of my t-shirt. Dr Holtzmann sucks air through her teeth at the sight of the bruises, which seem to have grown exponentially. She reaches out and gently presses her palm against my stomach, covering one of the dark marks. I gasp at the contact, which is both slightly painful and unexpectedly exciting. I notice, for the first time, her perfect cupid’s bow and how her jumpsuit belt cinches her tiny waist. We stand there staring at each other, motionless, as her callused thumb strokes its way across my abdomen and I try to control my breathing to avoid giving away the fact that I’m suddenly, confusingly, aroused.

Without warning Dr Holtzmann’s hand is pulled away from me, and once again I feel something wrap itself around my ankle. Without warning my legs are pulled from under me, and my head slams against the bedframe. And that’s all I remember. 

When I come to the sun is streaming through the gap in the curtain, illuminating what remains of my bedroom. The furniture is smashed, and my belongings are scattered haphazardly throughout the room.

I lift my head gingerly and wince as pain blurs my vision. Dr Holtzmann lies across me, her head pinning my right arm. She's pale and unmoving. Panic grips me, and I use my free arm to cradle her head while I free myself.

"Dr Holtzmann? Dr Holtzmann! Wake up! Come on, get up!" I gently pay her cheeks, trying to stir her. Finally she opens one eye and gives me a crooked grin.

"Not dead yet," she smirks, and sits up. We survey the destruction together.

"Whoooo-wee," she breathes. "That's one angry ghost. Whaddya do, ignore his plans for interior design?"

I start to laugh, but it quickly morphs into hiccupy, terrified sobs. Dr Holtzmann reaches over and envelops me in a bear hug, and I press my face against the dirty shoulder of her jumpsuit. We stay like that for a while, until my sobs subside and my cheeks are smeared with a combination of tears, dust, and what appears to be engine grease. Embarrassed, I lift the hem of my t-shirt and try to clean it off.

"Come here," Dr Holtzmann says, and pulls an enormous, pristine, blue-chequered cravat from her pocket and starts cleaning me up. "I think it's time we got outta here, don't you?"

"What? I haven't got anywhere to go... this is my home. I don't have anywhere else..."

"Pull yourself together!" Dr Holtzmann says sternly, then grins at me. "Plenty of room at my place for a good-lookin' damsel in distress!" She gets to her feet with a groan, and pulls me up. "You grab the essentials, I'll check the kit's still intact."

"Thank you so much, Dr Holtzmann! I don't know how to-" She cuts me off with a snort.

"It’s Holtz, baby. Just Holtz."

She takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom. The rest of the apartment is pristine, untouched. 

“Apparently he only likes getting dirty in the bedroom,” Holtz smirks, grabbing her bag. I dig out a hold-all from the hallway closet, and nip into the bathroom to grab my toothbrush and deodorant. I hover in the doorway of my bedroom, realising that all of my clothes are hanging in pieces around the room. Holtz stands behind me and rests her chin on my shoulder. “Not sure you’re gonna be able to salvage anything from this… Come on, I can spot you some clothes.” She spins on her heel and heads out to the car. I take a deep breath, one last look at the remnants of my room, and follow her.


	3. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

I did not expect to spend Friday morning speeding through the streets of New York in a hearse.

Holtz drives erratically enough to border on dangerous, arm resting out of the open window and a gleeful expression on her face. She weaves in and out of the traffic, threatening to turn on the siren every time we hit a red light. She has the stereo on full blast, and I join her in a screeching rendition of "Time after Time". Finally she pulls to a surprising stop in front of an old fire station, and leans across me to open my door. I'm pulling out bags from the back of the hearse when the brunette comes striding out of the fire station, looking furious.

"Holtzmann! Where the hell have you been? You take the car and don't even leave a damn note?!"

"Abby, Abby, Abby - calm down! Everything's fine!" Holtz approaches Abby mock-fearfully, holding her hands out in supplication.

"This is completely unacceptable Holtzmann. We were worried sick about you, you don’t bother answering your damn phone, and we've had no idea where you'd gone or when - if - you were coming back!"

"Is she back?" The redhead pops her head outside.

"Go back inside, Erin. I'm handling it," Abby snaps, turning back to Holtz.

"Look, this is my fault," I interject. "I'm the one who called so late. I didn't mean to cause any trouble, but my ghost situation was completely out..." I trail off as I notice Holtz's frantic miming for me to shut up.

"You want on a call... ALONE?!" Abby is now purple with rage. "Holtzmann, you are so… you are so… I give up!” She throws up her hands and storms back into the fire station.

“Holtz, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any of this. I’m so, so sor-“

“It’s fine jellybean, she can never stay mad at me!” She winks, cutting off my apology, and grabs the bags from me and slings them over her shoulders. “Now get your ass inside,” and with her hand placed firmly on my back, she ushers me into the fire station.

The sound of the three Ghosbusters arguing inside stops us in our tracks. Abby, standing hands on hips, is loudly berating the others about Holtz’s disappearance. “Patty, she was completely unreasonable! We are a team – we’re a family – and you don’t disappear and put yourself in danger and not tell anyone where you’re going when you’re part of a family!”

“Come on, Abby,” Patty retorts, “If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Holtzy. She’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Let’s just calm the hell down.”

“Erin – I know you agree with me! Holtzmann was totally out of line this time. ”

“Well… Obviously I agree that it’s completely reasonable to be worried and angry. But Patty has a point – Jillian is an adult and there’s plenty of evidence that she can take care of herself. After all, she does blow herself up on a weekly basis... On the other hand, it wasn’t okay to put us in this position. Even Kevin was worried sick about her, and that’s just not fair on him. So, in conclusion, I think that both of you have valid arguments.”

“Oh Erin, come on, pick a side!” Abby shouts, clearly frustrated.

“I don’t want to pick a side. Why do I have to pick a side? Why can’t I be Switzerland?”

“Erin, for heaven’s sake, be assertive for once!”

“She is being assertive,” Patty interjects. “Assertively neutral, as usual!”

“ENOUGH!” Holtz shouts, dropping the bags to the floor. “Patty, can you get our guest some fresh clothes?”

“Sure, sure. Come with me sweetie,” Patty stands up, shoots Holtz a glare, and grabs me by the hand, half-dragging me across the floor towards the stairs. As we climb up I hear the sounds of escalating arguing below.

“Will they be okay?” I ask Patty.

“Yeah, they’ll be fine. Always are. Just like to make a lot of noise getting to OK!” She grins at me. We reach the top of the stairs, and I survey the space, mostly cluttered by half-finished contraptions, white boards with complex equations scribbled on them, and a sofa piled with odd pieces of clothing. “This is Holtzy’s space,” Patty explains, “Just don’t touch anything – it’s liable to explode. You wait here, and I’ll grab you some threads.” She ducks into one of the adjoining rooms, and I scoot over to the staircase to try and hear what’s going on downstairs. It’s now considerably quieter, so I keep my fingers crossed that the team have resolved their differences.

Patty emerges with a t-shirt and some pants. Unfortunately she is significantly taller than me, and I anticipate that the t-shirt will fit me more like a dress. “Shower’s up there, sweetie,” Patty gestures to the second floor staircase. “You should go clean up, you look like hell!”

“Thanks,” I mutter, trying to keep the sarcastic edge out of my voice, and head upstairs. Twenty minutes later and I’m squeaky clean and clad in Patty’s clothes. As anticipated they swamp me, and I’ve rolled the legs of the pants up to avoid tripping over them. I descend the stairs carefully to discover Holtz tinkering with a rusty metal contraption.

“Lookin’ good,” she drawls, winking at me. “Now, nap time. The whole team’s heading over to yours later to zap that pesky ghost, and I want you rested and ready. Let’s get you tucked in.” I follow her into another of the adjoining rooms and realise, thanks to the piles of half-finished inventions, that it must be her bedroom. 

“Is everything all right? Are they still mad?”

“Nah. Well, a bit, but mostly not. They agree with me that your ghost is a serious badass, and needs to be ixnayed ASAP. So rest, relax, recover, and then later we’ll go out, get the job done, grab a beer and chill.” She starts fluffing the pillows, and throws back the blanket. “Not the finest guest accommodation, but it should do in a pinch. In you get!” I climb into the bed awkwardly, feeling about five years old. Holtz closes the blinds and tucks the blanket around me. “Sleep tight jellybean,” she says, pausing to look down at me for a moment before brushing my forehead with a kiss. My skin tingles where her lips touch me, and my stomach flips – obviously the stress of the previous night has played havoc with my hormones. I snuggle into the bedclothes that smell comfortingly of Holtz, and drift off to sleep.

I wake up screaming from a nightmare of an unseen presence doing unspeakable things to me. I open my eyes to see Holtz hovering over me with a concerned look on her face. “You OK?” she asks, squeezing into the bed beside me.

“Just a bad dream,” I mutter, “a really bad dream.” Holtz’s face is millimetres from mine. She pushes her goggles up and rests her forehead against mine. I lay there staring into her blue eyes, my stomach spinning, for what feels like an eternity. She reaches down with her hand and brushes some hair out of my eyes, her fingers lingering against my cheek. For a moment her eyes are almost tender, and then she’s leaping up, a ball of energy.

“Rise and shine jellybean! It’s bustin’ time!”


	4. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

The Ghostbusters clamber into the hearse, and I squeeze in the back. Holtz is at the wheel, shoving the best part of a tube of Pringles into her mouth while she waits for the others to settle. Once we’re all in she dusts off her gloves and takes the wheel. We speed through the quiet New York streets, weaving in-between the other cars. After a short drive we pull up outside my apartment complex.

I really do not want to go inside. It’s hard to forget the violence of the past few days. We climb out of the hearse, and survey my building, which appears strangely innocent considering everything that’s happened. Holtz links her fingers with mine loosely and squeezes. I glance over at her, taking in her strong profile, all coiffed hair and poised weaponry. Abby leads the way, with Patty and Erin following. Holtz gives me a grin, flashing her dimple, and bounds up the steps. I follow behind cautiously.

“Look at all this cool shit,” Holtz says, unzipping her carry-all. “Proton pistols, ghost traps, general explosives, nuclear devices… what more could a girl want? Really, no need to worry. We’ve got this locked down!”

The team are swarming the apartment, weapons at the ready. Abby is holding out the pasta fork, which I’ve learnt is called a PKE meter. While Abby, Erin and Patty explore the apartment, Holtz nudges me into the bedroom. It’s still a mess, clothes and furniture strewn everywhere. Holtz takes my hand again, and I feel her thumb stroking across my palm. My body is suddenly on fire, the feel of her bare skin all it takes to send my pulse racing. I’m so focused on it it’s a shock when I feel hands closing around my upper arms. “H-Holtz,” I stammer, “something’s here…”

“Guys – guys.. Hey guys! Can you hear me? Guys! Get here now!” Holtz shouts, keeping hold of my hand. Deep impressions of handprints are forming on my upper arms. 

“Holtz, it hurts, please make it stop…” I gasp, feeling my feet start to lift off of the floor. “Holtz!” She lets my hand go, and grabs the waist of my pants. “Holtz please, please don’t let me go!” My arms are up above my head now, and I’m being pulled towards the ceiling by an unseen force.

Abby and Erin burst into the room, and train their guns on the space above me, the proton stream curling around an unseen enemy. I feel a yanking sensation, and suddenly I’m pulled higher. Holtz wraps her arms around my waist and tries to pull me down, but the ghost is too strong. 

“Patty!” Abby shouts, “We need help. Patty, get in here!” Patty squeezes into the doorway gun-first, and adds her proton stream to the unseen enemy. The impressions in my arms deepen, and start to bruise. 

“Holtz, you gotta let her go,” Patty warns, shifting her proton stream to try and get better purchase. Holtz shifts her grip and I’m pulled still higher, now looking down on the four women. 

“Holtz, we need you as well!” Abby shouts, struggling to control the ghost with the proton stream. “We can’t do this with just three of us! It’s not working!” Abby reaches a hand back, stabilising the gun against her chin, trying to grab a trap. 

Erin staggers slightly, biting her lip as she fights to hold the ghost. “Holtz, she is not kidding. This thing is strong; it needs all four of us. Can you give us a quick hand here?”

“If I let her go she hits the ceiling and goes splat!” Holtz shouts, keeping her arms around my waist.

“That’s an unlikely outcome, Holtzmann,” Abby snaps, her eyes focused on where the proton streams converge.

“Jillian Holtzmann! I am not kidding! Help us the hell out NOW!” Patty shouts, pressing herself against the doorway for better leverage. 

Holtz looks up at me, then at the women, then back at me. “Hang on, jellybean!” She shifts, freeing an arm but keeping the other around me, anchoring me, and pulls a proton pistol from her waistband. “Where the hell are we aiming?” she shouts, “This thing is definitely a grower not a show-er!”

“Just aim where I’m aiming!” Abby shouts, exasperated. There’s a high-pitched shriek as Holtz’s proton stream joins the others, and then the lightbulb blows and I drop to the floor.

“What the hell?” Abby shouts. “Erin, did you lay the trap?”

“No time, no free hands. It looks like it’s gone of its own accord.”

“Does that mean we can get some food now?” Patty asks, looking fed up. 

“Might as well,” Abby sighs. “We’ll try and grab this asshole again tomorrow. But I am not ordering Zhu’s. I can not have another argument over wontons with them.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Holtz sighs, packing up the kit. She grabs my hand and pulls me out into the hallway. “Comin’ home with me?” she grins. “I’ll even buy you dinner!”

I feel myself flushing. “Yep, yeah. That would be great. It being freaky at home. So yes, sleeping with you-yours- at yours – would be gr-fine. If that’s fine. Dinner. Yes”

“Riiiight.” Holtz gives me a long, slow stare, flashing the half-smile that reveals her irresistible dimple.

Later that night, sated from too much take-out, Holtz and I are the last ones left lounging on the couch. I start to yawn, and she leans over to grab the remote and turn the TV off. As she does, her right breast grazes my hand, and I feel my heart start to pound. This has gone beyond some ghostbusting-related crush, this is a full on infatuation. Holtz stands up.

“Wait, do you have to go?” I ask plaintively. 

“I can stay.”

“Can you just stay with me until I sleep? Then you can go to bed.” I ask. Holtz shrugs, and curls herself around me on the sofa, pulling a blanket over us. 

“Night jellybean.” 

I’m out like a light.

Hours later, I wake from a nightmare to find her limbs still entwined with mine. “Holtz… Holtz? Wake up!”

“No no no… sleeping. Sleeping good.”

“Holtz!” I shake her more firmly. “Holtz, get up!” She stretches like a cat, rubbing her eyes.

“Why’dya wake me up?”

“I need to talk to you… I need to know - why didn’t you attack the ghost right away?”

“It was hurting you. Thought it made more sense to keep hold of you. Supernatural floating’s never good when you’ve got breakable bones.”

“So… so you care about me? Getting hurt?”

“Of course I do jellybean. Don’t want you to get smashed up.” I’m suddenly very, very aware of her proximity to me. “You’ve got a good face, let’s keep it that way,” Holtz says, cupping my chin in her palm. Immediately it’s like all of my nerve endings are concentrated in the parts of my skin that she’s touching. I’m flushed and nervous, and yet so very sure that this is something more than just kindness and a reaction to danger and the ghost. I reach a hand out and entwine it in her tangled mass of blonde hair, lean forward, and then my lips are on hers and I hear myself let out a moan and yes, this is it, this is everything-

Holtz presses a hand against my chest and pushes me away. “No, no, no… this is not a good idea,” she says, looking firm and forbidding. “Look, you’re a nice girl, but this-this is not that kind of a thing. Sheesh.” She gets up off of the couch and stalks off to her room.

I watch her go, my throat burning. You will not cry, I tell myself. You will not cry. I can smell the fragrance of her shampoo and skin on the blanket, and all of a sudden it’s no longer comforting. I push the blanket off and turn over, willing myself to go back to sleep.


	5. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is rude. NSFW!

It’s Patty that wakes me, with a steaming cup of coffee and half a bagel generously coated in cream cheese. She pats my shoulder, then wanders off after handing me breakfast, and I realise how much of an inconvenience I must be. The women convene at the large table downstairs, but I remain sequestered upstairs, feeling rejected and uncomfortable. I can hear the sound of them squabbling over breakfast, and feel miserable and out of place. I want so badly to be at home where I can be alone and by myself, but that’s not an option. The sound of Holtz’s loud laugh cuts through me. I can’t believe I was so stupid as to think that she wanted me. Shame courses through me as I re-live the events of the previous night. I fold the blanket and straighten the cushions, and sit myself primly on the edge on the sofa.

I hear a loud stomping on the stairs, and Holtz breezes by me towards her workbench. For a moment she glances over at me and I catch her eye, but I quickly look away. Suddenly loud ‘80s music is blaring, and I can’t help but be drawn to the spectacle of Holtz dancing. She grins at me while shaking two wrenches like maracas and I flinch. I can’t believe she’s flirting with me right after what happened… or maybe she’s not flirting with me, and this is just Holtz. That would explain how I could have misread her signals and made such an idiot of myself. Despite everything I can’t resist watching her shake her hips enthusiastically, chin tilted over her shoulder observing my reaction to her dancing. Fuck this, I think, and storm upstairs to the shower. 

I dig my old clothes out of the bag I left on the floor of the bathroom, and strip off Patty’s cast-offs, throwing them into the laundry hamper. I turn the shower to its hottest setting, hoping I can burn off some of the shame. Stepping into the steaming water, I cup my face, letting myself cry for the first time since Holtz rejected me. I stand under the powerful spray for a few minutes, before pulling myself together and lathering up my hair. Suddenly the door swings open, and Holtz is slouched in the doorway, grinning at me. I freeze for a moment, and then move to cover my body with my arms. Holtz looks me up and down, then smiles slowly, tongue poking out between her teeth. She exits as abruptly as she entered, slamming the door, leaving me shaken and confused and – dammit – aroused again.

The team leave on a call shortly after I emerge from the shower. I spend a fruitless thirty minutes trying to teach Kevin to play snap, but eventually give up and leave him to do his job (badly). I grab a half-finished tube of Pringles from Holtz’s workbench and nestle down in an armchair, reading the only thing to hand - Ghosts from Our Past: Both Literally and Figuratively: A Study of the Paranormal. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when I awake the sky is darkening and the team are climbing the stairs, take-out in hand.

Their loud enthusiasm and exuberance over a successful bust is a welcome distraction from my lonely thoughts, and I enjoy watching them argue over which movie to watch, and who gets to eat what first. I envy their closeness, watching them push and shove and manhandle each other until they are comfortably arranged on the couch.

I’ve chosen the armchair farthest from the sofa, trying to avoid Holtz. I can feel her eyes on me as we watch the movie, but refuse to look over. After the previous night I feel so uncomfortable, like an unwanted relative that comes to dinner and fails to leave. The other Ghostbusters are kind, telling me I can stay as long as I need to, but Holtz is unreadable. She’s flirty and aggressively physical and constantly shooting me suggestive looks, but as soon as I make a move she inexplicably acts as though it’s unexpected and certainly not encouraged. 

Gradually everyone leaves the room citing exhaustion, leaving me and Holtz alone again. I keep my eyes fixed on the TV screen even as the credits are rolling, feigning interest. I desperately want her to leave and go back to work, or to bed, so that I can be alone and not have to pretend to be upbeat. I’m so focused on shutting out any potential acknowledgement of Holtz that it takes me a good few minutes to notice that she’s now kneading my shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” I snap, turning my head and eyeing her with hostility.

“You look like you’ve been sat there all day,” Holtz explains, digging a knuckle into a particularly tight muscle, “figured you could use some loosening up.” I stiffen my shoulders, barely breathing as I steel myself against the feel of her touch. Her fingers walk up and over my shoulders, pausing to stroke my jawline, before moving lower, her fingers skimming over my nipple. It instantly hardens, and I stifle a gasp. She bends over and gently kisses my neck, her lips sucking slightly at my skin. I bite my lip, not wanting to move, too scared of her leaving, stopping. She strokes a thumb more firmly over my nipple and I let out a groan, feeling myself grow wet.

“Do you want me?” Holtz asks, her voice husky. Her hand moves to cup my breast as her teeth nip at my earlobe.

“God yes,” I breathe, just the slightest touch of her enough to drive me crazy. I feel her reach down and push her fingers past the waistband of my panties, and suddenly I’m almost hyperventilating. I reach behind me and grasp her free arm, my nails digging into her skin as she circles my clit with a firm fingertip. I’m panting now, back arched, my body pushing against her urging her harder, faster, until a sudden unseen force slaps me hard across the face.

“I knew it!” Holtz yells, “Ghost’s got a crush on you! Hypothesis proven!”


	6. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

Holtz bounds over to her workbench and ferrets out a pen, starting to scrawl equations on a scrap of paper. "The ghost isn’t haunting a house, it's haunting you!" She announces grandly. "Whole different ballgame. It's obviously extremely hostile, and does not approve of your shenanigans," she whoops, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

 

I struggle to calm my breathing, and re-adjust my clothes. "So you think it's okay to just... molest people? For your own amusement?"

 

"Not 'molesting'... _please_ ," Holtz snorts. "I needed to prove my hypothesis. Ghost + you = luuuurve... The entity is clearly very well attuned to your physical response to sexual stimulus. I noticed every instance of our having physical contact aroused you to the extent it caused the ghost to act out. Kinda like a physically abusive Patrick Swayze. What I can't work out is if it's developed some form of emotional connection to you, or if it’s your physical response to stimuli - in the form of yours truly - acting as the trigger for its violent outbursts," she explains distractedly pulling together tools. “I’m going to need to figure that out – if there’s an emotional connection then that… whooo… that has some serious implications! That’s basically saying Patrick Swayze is feasible.” She grins at me and winks.

 

"So this... all this," I gesture inclusively at the two of us, "this was just you- just- experimenting? With me?"

 

"Not experimenting with you, experimenting for you," Holtz mutters , not meeting my eyes. "I'm clearly making progress – we’ve triggered ghost activity outside of your apartment. We know that it's linked to you somehow, and once I work out how to deal with it - you just need to give me some time. At least now," she pauses as she heaves a huge book up from off of the floor, "we can work together and zap it and you can live happily ever after." She smiles wolfishly at me from over a pile of assorted metal parts, and starts rifling through the pages.

“Holtz, you don’t get it. You can’t do that to me – you can’t touch me like that, and make me think that you-“

“I was trying to help you,” Holtz sighs, rolling her eyes before covering them with her goggles.

“Don’t do that – do not just disconnect from me like that!” I yell, storming over and grabbing her arm. “You’re not helping me – how is manipulating me the way that you did helping?” I lean over her workbench and slam the book shut. “Seriously, Holtz, you cannot think that what you did was normal, or justified, or in any way okay!” Holtz resumes tinkering with her tools, ignoring me. “Fuck, Holtz – this is ridiculous. Why am I the one feeling shitty when you should be? Are you not even sorry?”

“Fine. I’m sorry,” she shrugs, pushing me out of the way. 

“That’s really sincere. Thank you,” I mutter sarcastically. “I need to get out of here. I wish I’d never called you.” I turn my back on her and head to the stairs.

“You can’t go,” Holtz says softly. “If you go, you’ll stay haunted. For better or worse, you need me. Well, us. You need us.” I stop in my tracks. As infuriating as she is, she’s right. What am I going to do, go back home and watch the rest of my apartment get trashed room by room by some crazy spirit for the foreseeable future? “Why don’t you take my room?” Holtz asks gently, “I’ll stay out here and keep working.” I don’t bother to look back as I leave the room.

\----------------------------------- 

I spend the remainder of the night fitfully trying to sleep. I’m so angry with Holtz that I can’t even sleep on her bed, curling up on an over-sized beanbag instead. I can still hear Holtz working outside, and refuse to leave the room until I know she’s gone. The way she treated me feels like an unforgiveable betrayal. It’s not just that she used me for some stupid science experiment, it’s how idiotic I feel, misinterpreting her signals. I still don’t understand how I could have gotten it so wrong. All the looks she gave me, the way she’d always try to have some form of physical contact with me, and then the way that she touched me the night before… I shiver as I remember the feel of her lips against my skin and the confidence of her fingers. Nope. Stop. That is not a productive train of thought. 

I’ve lost track of time, and am inwardly cursing my failure to grab something off of my book shelf before abandoning my apartment, when I hear the unmistakable sound of Holtz bounding down the stairs two at a time. Needing to pee really badly, I creep out of her room and head up the stairs to the bathroom. When I’m done I descend the stairs slowly, trying not to attract attention. Peering over the bannister, I can see Holtz and Abby having what appears to be a heated discussion.

“Holtzmann, you have got to stop screwing around with that girl!” Abby yells. “We’ve all noticed it – we’re not blind!”

“Abby, can we dial the volume down just a touch?” Holtz asks, swinging a chair around and straddling it.

“Fine,” Abby mock-whispers, “but I am not done with this. What is going on with you?”

“I can promise you there is absolutely nothing _inappropriate_ going on.”

“Bullshit Holtz. A couple of days ago you guys are giving each other googly eyes at every opportunity, and now you can barely stand to be in the same room.”

“I can stand being in the same room as her,” Holtz pouts, folding her arms across the chair back and dropping her chin onto her hands. 

“Okay… so do you want to explain to me why she’s hidden upstairs and you’re down here?”

“We had a little, tiny, fight. Tiny disagreement.”

“About?” Abby coaxes, pouring a coffee and sliding a fresh tube of Pringles across the table to Holtz.

“About my scientific methodology,” Holtz snorts, toying with the lid.

“Oh jeez,” Abby sighs. “Well, all right. It’s a moot point anyway – we’ll head over to her apartment today and zap that ghost so she can go home. Problem solved.”

“Can’t do that” Holtz mutters around a mouthful of chips. 

“Do you want to tell me why?”

“Ghost’s here now,” Holtz shrugs. “Came with her.”

“What?” Abby shouts. “How is that possible? It came with her? When did that happen?”

“Not sure. We were fooling around a bit last night, and whump, there it was!” Holtz shrugs. 

“Fooling around? Since when do you fool around with anyone?” Abby asks, staring a blushing Holtz down. “Oh my god, you like her!” Abby grins, pointing her finger at Holtz. “You, Jillian Holtzmann, have a crush on the girl upstairs. Oh man, this is a first!”

“I do not have a crush. It just was one of those things that when it’s late and danger- you know, makes things weird, and being in close proximity it’s entirely conceivable that something might get… get confused. And maybe something happens that wouldn’t normally happen. Not that I didn’t want it to happen, but it’s not a big happening. And definitely not a crush. Just a thing.” Holtz realises she’s been waving her arms around meaninglessly, and shoves her hands deep into her pockets.

“Got it. Noted. Not a crush, just a _thing_ …”

“That’s enough Yates,” Holtz huffs, standing up. “I’m going back to work.”

“You do that hon,”Abby chuckles, grabbing the newspaper to hide her smirk. 

Hearing Holtz start to climb the stairs I scoot back into her room. I try to keep the grin off of my face as I soak up the realisation that Dr Jillian Holtzmann has a crush. On me. Okay, so clearly she has some issues with having a crush on me, but that doesn’t change the fact that she. Has a crush. On me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, just can't seem to get a grip on this chapter. Apologies that it's messy - I'll keep trying to tweak it.


	7. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry - this is going on longer than originally planned, but chapter 6 went a bit wrong, and I'm trying to get it back on track! Apologies for the hit and miss nature of the fic, and thank you to those who are persevering!

When I'm sure the sounds outside of the room indicate Holtz is definitely back to being distracted by her work, I leave the room. We both carefully avoid making eye contact as I cross the floor and descend the stairs.

"You're not leaving?" Abby asks, eyeing me over her newspaper as I grab my bag from the book by the door.

"Nope - just getting some fresh air," I smile. "I'll be out of your hair soon though, I promise!"

"Ach stay, the more the merrier," she smiles. "I know Holtzmann's enjoying having you around!" I must have made a face, because she immediately starts back-tracking. "I mean that in a good way! She doesn't make friends easily - so it's great that, you know, you guys have bonded over all this."

"I'm not sure we've bonded," I mutter, flinging the bag over my shoulder. I'm about to walk out when Abby calls out for me to wait.

"Holtzmann's not good at expressing how she feels," Abby explains. "I don't know what's going on, or why the atmosphere's suddenly so frosty in here, but I can promise you that the girl likes you. She would just rather die than admit it. So try to go easy on her, okay?" Abby returns her attention to her newspaper. "Holtzmann's worth a lot of second chances," she adds after a pause. "I give you the Yates guarantee on that."

\------------------------------------- 

I return a couple of hours later with some new clothes, a couple of books, and a bulging bag of groceries. Patty, reclining lazily with her feet up on the communal table and her nose in a history book, laughs heartily when she sees them. "Don'tcha know this ain't a functional kitchen?" She grins. I turn towards her, my face falling. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, she gasps between guffaws. ”It's about time someone christened the stove!" I stick my tongue out at her and start unpacking my haul.

After heading upstairs to shower, change, and throw Patty's clothes in the washer, I go back to the kitchen to start prepping a lasagne. Holtz is engrossed in her work, humming along to the song thumping through her headphones, and pays me no attention as I pass her. Alone in the kitchen I grab a knife and start chopping vegetables methodically, feeling much more comfortable in shorts and a tank top that actually fit.

An hour later I've finished layering bolognese and pasta, and I'm energetically whisking milk into a roux. A sudden whoop of triumph startles me, and I spin around to see Holtz gracelessly sliding down the fire pole. She grabs me around the waist, dips me to the floor, and enthusiastically plants a sloppy kiss in my lips. 

"Holtz - the sauce!" I giggle, returning to my whisking before the sauce has a chance to stick. She snakes an arm around me, sticks two fingers in the pan, then sucks the blob of bechamel off with relish.

"That tastes gooood!"

"It tasted better before you stuck your fingers in it!"

"Darlin', there is nothing that could taste worse for having had my fingers in it," she retorts with a lascivious wink. I feel myself blush from my head to my toes. “How long until dinner?” she asks, stealing another finger full of sauce.

“About an hour?”

“Good, good, good. I’ve got something for you – it’s almost finished. You’re gonna love it,” she promises, bounding back up the stairs. I return my attention to my sauce, both confused and bemused by her sudden change in attitude.

\--------------------------- 

An hour later, give or take, and the five of us are crowded around the large kitchen table. “Real food!” Erin coos, emptying half of the salad bowl onto her plate. “Oh god, vegetables. Fresh, crunchy, delicious vegetables!” She closes her eyes in ecstasy. Abby and Patty are excitedly chatting about a book they’d both just read, and Holtz is shovelling down the last of her lasagne.

“More?” I ask her.

“Mmmmm. So good,” she nods, rubbing her stomach appreciatively. I dish up another portion and pop it down in front of her. She immediately resumes eating with gusto. “You. Are. A. Kitchen. Wizard.” She pronounces around a mouthful of lasagne. “Is there still some left?”

“Where the hell do you put it,” I ask bemused, lifting the hem of her t-shirt to reveal her taut stomach. She smiles at me, and I catch Abby and Patty raising their eyebrows at each other.

Once Holtz has finished her third helping, and everyone else has finished their first, I stand up and gather the plates. “Dessert?” I ask, so happy that they enjoyed my food. “I made brownies.” There are appreciative moans from around the table, so I pull out the brownie pan and cut five generous slices.

“I’m going to marry you,” Holtz drawls after her first bite of gooey chocolately goodness. “I’m going to marry you and chain you to the kitchen and let you bake me brownies every day for the rest of our lives.” I flush with pride, feeling useful for the first time in days. In fact, I feel more than useful, I feel like maybe there could be a way in which I would fit with Holtz and she would fit with me. Holtz dusts the chocolate crumbs off of her hands and stands up, grabbing my wrist. “Come on, time for your present!”

“Just give me ten minutes to do the dishes,” I say, picking up the last of the plates from the table.

“No, you go on,” Patty says, catching Abby’s eye, “we’ve got this. You’ve been in this kitchen long enough. Go play.”

“Um, okay. Thanks – that’s so nice,” I smile, being pulled away from the table by a determined Holtz. She grabs my hand, and we run up the stairs together. She skids to a halt at the top of the stairs and gestures to the workbench.

“Ta-daaaaa!”

“Ta-da?” I echo, looking at the pile of junk on the workbench.

“This…” she shouts, running over and grabbing a bundle of wires attached to a battered-looking tin helmet, “is for you!”

“Is that… safe?” I ask, impressed by her enthusiasm, but decidedly not sold on the helmet. 

“Yep. Safe. Definitely safe.”

“How safe?” I reach out to take the contraption from her.

“Weeell, pretty safe.” She looks at me sheepishly from over her goggles.

“90% safe?”

“Maybe not that safe. But close.”

“Riiiight.” I finger the wires gingerly. “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Let’s try this bad boy out.”

“That’s the spirit!” She grabs it back from me, and jams the helmet on my head.

“Wait, Holtz, slow down… what’s it for?”

“Fireworks, baby,” she replies with a grin.


	8. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed update - I managed to slice my hand open, and typing pulled on the stitches (ouch)! Now back from holiday with a freshly healed hand. 
> 
> Anyhoo, science and stuff. Enjoy!

"How does it work?" I toy with the leather strap designed to hold the helmet on my head.

"So these wires," Holtz explains, stretching them along my arms, "are going to map along your body for maximum contact. When we turn it on here," she takes the helmet and rotates it around to reveal a small switch, "a current of positrons will circulate around you, acting as a smaller, less intense version of the proton ray."

"Like your guns?" I ask nervously.

"Yeeah, sort of, but without the proton element. So not really. The aim is to try to trigger a manifestation so that we can lock 'n' load on this sucker. The positrons are positively charged. Ghosts are fuelled by antimatter, so are essentially carrying a negative charge. My theory is that when the positrons collide with the antimatter, we'll get a reaction similar to annihilation, and the resulting photons will give the ghost enough oomph to materialise. Well, actually the reaction will kinda force materialisation, if I've done my calculations right. But if it doesn't work, then it should just give off some sparks. Damn, I'm a genius!" She slaps the bench for emphasis, lip between her teeth and her eyes full of excitement.

I don't quite share her enthusiasm. "You said theory. So this isn't tested?"

"It's about to be," she chuckles. "How does it feel to be on the cutting edge of science?"

"You mentioned annihilation!" I squeak.

"Ssh... don't let Abby hear you throwing those kinds of words around !" Holtz places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I promise you I won't let you get hurt. You're not covered by our insurance plan so financially it's really not an option.” I stare at her, speechless. Holtz gives me a hearty slap on the back. “C’mon, I’m kidding! “

I roll my eyes at her, and take the proffered helmet. “So I just stick this on, ghost materialises, boom, done?”

“Uh, that’s the problem,” she says sheepishly. “It’s not really a quick fix… first, the ghost needs to show up. Then, materialisation. Then I do some more thinking. Then I work out how to catch it without, y’know, zapping the crap outta you. Then I save the universe… no, wait, already crossed that off of the bucket list.” She gives me a huge grin and lowers her goggles. “Ready to science party now?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be…” Holtz tightens the strap under my chin, and tracks the wires along my arms, securing them by snapping metal circlets around my wrists. She repeats with my legs, and I giggle as she tickles my leg with her fingertips. “I must look ridiculous,” I complain, fiddling with my hair under the helmet. 

“You look adorable, dahling,” Holtz drawls, and with a flick of her finger she flips the switch. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

45 minutes later, and no sign of anything. “Holtz, I’m booooooored, “I complain. “Can I take it off now?”

“Not yet. It’ll work.” 

“But I’m so booooooooooored. Soooooooooo bored.”

“You’re a pain in the ass. I’m doing this for your own good. You wouldn’t tell Stephen Hawking you were bored.”

“Blah blah science genius blah. Can we at least watch a movie while we wait?”

“Patty!” Holtz hollers. “Nuke some popcorn wouldya?”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patty, Holtz and I squeeze ourselves onto the couch. Patty holds the popcorn, and I dump my feet in Holtz’s lap. All of our awkwardness seems to have dissipated over lasagne and an ugly tin helmet. The two of them fight over the remote, until Patty’s successful and hits play on The Way We Were. Holtz groans, and mimes snoring. “Shut up and put up, Holtzmann!” Patty snaps, throwing a cushion at her head. I roll my eyes, and snuggle down into the couch. 

We’re half-way through the movie and Holtz is clearly fed up. She picks up one of my feet and starts to rub it. “Oh, that’s gooooood!” I purr, flexing my foot. Holtz grins at me, and starts massaging her way up my leg. There’s a crackling sound, and a series of lights flash up my calf. 

Holtz bolts upright and drops my foot. “It’s happening!” she yells, throwing herself on me in a bear hug. Another flicker of lights runs up over my hip, along my torso, and then down my arm. “Oh shit, it really is happening!” She bolts to the staircase and hangs over it. “Abby, Erin, get up here!”

I hear the sound of the other women running up the stairs. I’m sat still, very still, on the couch, while Holtz and Patty are mesmerised by the lights flashing up and along my body. I, personally, am terrified. Holtz said that the reaction would lead to the ghost showing itself, but so far, we just have a hell of a lot of crazy reactions happening across my body. Abby reaches the couch and stops to study me.

“Holtzmann, what is.. what the hell?”

“I’m not completely sure – this didn’t really go to plan. We were aiming for some ghost materialisation. I guess that maybe my calculations were wrong?”

“Your calculations are never wrong,” Erin says nervously. “What’s with the light show?”

“I don’t know at this precise second, but I am definitely looking to find out,” Holtz replies distractedly, fiddling with the wires circling my body. She runs a slim finger up and then across to the inside of my thigh following the line of the wire, and I could _swear_ that she moves deliberately slowly. The wire throws off a few sparks, and Holtz pulls back and lowers her goggles over her eyes. “The connection looks good,” she mutters, moving her hands up my torso. My body has been hyper-aware of her movements since she touched my leg, and the additional contact sends butterflies racing through my stomach. There’s a low humming sound, and spectral fingertips appear connected by the wire stretched across my stomach. “Hmmmm,” Holtz lowers her goggles and appraises me. She runs an experimental finger up my hip and watches as the fingers follow hers. She moves closer to me, her hips pressed against mine, on the pretence of checking the wires running along the back of my neck. I swallow hard, trying to control my breathing, as her fingertips brush their way down my spine.

“Oh shit,” Patty whispers, “there’s a full-on hand now!” I twist my head to see the spectral hand reaching out to grab Holtz and failing. “Holtzmann, that ghost does not want you to touch its girl!”

“I’m just gonna up the positron stream,” Holtz replies, fiddling with her pocket screwdriver inside the helmet. The spectral hand turns into an arm, turns into a shoulder, and suddenly a full-fledged ghost-woman appears, joined at my hip.

“Oh hell,” I whisper, staring into the eyes of the very pissed-off looking ghost hanging out on my left.

“Oh hell,” Patty, Abby and Erin echo. The ghost looms at them, retches, and vomits a cascade of ectoplasm over Erin. 

“Every frickin’ time!” Erin shouts, shaking the slime from her sleeves.

“I _told_ you to wear the jumpsuit,” Abby tuts.


	9. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

“I suggest we stream this sucker,” Holtz declares, holding up her pistol. 

“How is that going to work?” Abby asks, frustrated

“Well, it’s not going to be pleasant…” Holtz replies. “Jellybean, you happy for me to zap this bitch?”

“What happens when you zap it?” I ask. The ghost is snapping its jaws at me aggressively. 

“Might sting a bit, but you’ll be fine! So is that a go?” Holtzmann asks, removing the safety from her pistol.

“If you say it’s safe, then yes, I guess it’s a go,” I reply, trying to edge away from the aggressive supernatural presence.

“Holtzmann, don’t do it,” Abby warns, “we have no idea how this will affect her.”

“She said yes, Abby,” Holtzmann tuts. “Experiment is go, as far as I’m concerned. Can you get a trap ready?” She takes aim, and I feel a white hot heat run through me as the proton stream contains the ghost.

“Holtz! This doesn’t feel good,” I warn, my skeleton feeling like it’s melting as her proton beam pulls in the ghost.

“Hang on just three seconds,” she shouts, as Abby throws down a trap. She throws a gun to Erin. “Can you give me some extra fire power?”

“Holtzmann, this is not a good idea,” Erin warns. 

“Blast it, or it’s back to the drawing board! Trust me!” 

Erin flicks her eyes at me, then adds her stream to Holtz’s. It feels like a thousand razorblades coursing through my skin, and I cry out. Abby snaps the trap open, and I feel a sucking sensation as the ghost is pulled from me into the trap. In the moment it takes for Holtz and Erin to realise they’ve contained the ghost I feel a strong electric shock, and am thrown across the room.

When I come to Holtz is cradling my head tenderly. “You okay?” she asks. “Bumped your head pretty good.” I try to sit up, and the room starts spinning, so I lay back down again, supported by Holtz’s arms. “Okay jellybean, let’s get you to bed,” Holtz says, cradling me in a fireman’s lift. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Erin asks, stroking my hair out of my face.

“’Course,” Holtz splutters. “She’s looking pinker already.” The others get out of the way as Holtz carries me through to her bedroom. She places me carefully on the bed, and then checks my temperature with the back of her hand.

“I’m okay Holtz,” I say weakly. “Did you get it?”

“Yep. Think so,” she replies, taking the tin helmet off carefully. “You happy me for me to remove the hardware?” I nod weakly. She rolls up the wires slowly, carefully opening the metal circlets enclosing my wrists and ankles and removing them. I try to sit up again, and gingerly finger the back of my head. 

“Ouch,” I exclaim. “I think I hit my head pretty hard.”

“That you did. Better keep you inside for tonight,” Holtz replies.

“Sorry for taking over your bed,” I reply sleepily. 

“Figured I’d share it,” Holtz replies quietly. Suddenly I’m very, very alert.

“That sounds fine,” I reply. “Can you help me get in my PJs?” She rolls my tank top gently up and over my head, trailing her fingers along my arms. Reaching around, she unhooks my bra, but looks away as I remove it. With my arms crossed over my chest I feel suddenly shy as she roots around for a t-shirt in her drawer. She works the t-shirt over my head, and I feel her knuckles brush against the side of my breasts as she lowers it.

“I think you better do the rest,” she mutters throatily, gesturing to my shorts. I lock eyes with her, and unbutton my shorts, but when I reach down to pull them off I suddenly feel dizzy again. 

“Sorry Holtz, I’m going to need you to take care of this,” I shrug, leaning back against the pillows. She grasps the waistband of my shorts, and I lift my hips to help her ease them down my legs. I hear her suck in a breath as she repeats the action with my panties. She pulls down the oversized t-shirt over my hips, smoothing it over my stomach. 

“There you go, right as rain.”

“Right as rain,” I echo, staring into her eyes, which are the blue of the sky, or a perfect sea. She dips her head, and suddenly, unexpectedly, her lips are on mine and she’s teasing my top lip with the tip of her tongue. I let out a small moan as her hands descend from my neck to my breasts. I reach up to pull her to me, her thigh pushing its way insistently between mine. I reach out to stroke her breasts, but she evades me, her fingers skilful as they tease my nipples. Her lips move down my neck, trailing soft kisses, as her fingers travel lower. I’m crying out, pulling her to me, wanting more of her, but she holds back, her fingers strumming a strong rhythm against my clit as she looks down at me. I arch my back as I come gasping her name.

I reach out for her, but she pushes my hand away. “I’m good;” she replies softly, “let’s sleep.” I don’t need telling twice, and curl up beside her. Before I know it, I’m fast asleep.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I wake up in the morning, slightly foggy, Holtz is gone. I pull on my shorts, and head out to the lab. Holtz is working enthusiastically on a metal contraption.

“Morning,” I yawn, scratching my back contentedly. 

“Yep,” Holtz replies shortly, tinkering with her screwdriver.

“Are you pissed at me?” I ask confused. “Because of last night?”

“Not pissed!” she exclaims, digging in to her contraption with a wrench. “You okay to get home?”

“Uh yeah,” I respond confused. “You want me to go now?”

“I think the girls are getting fed up,” she explains, not meeting my eyes.

“Right. Okay. I’ll get out of here then.” I look down at the floor, hurt. “Do you want to get dinner later?”

“No thanks.”

“Okay then. Tomorrow?”

“No need.”

“No need? As in, no, no matter when?”

“Yeah.”

“So… last night?”

“Last night was a one-off. You’re cute, but I’m not interested in anything long term.”

I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. “Don’t you think that would have been useful information for me to have earlier?”

“You had a good time, I had a good time… it’s all good, baby,” Holtz smirks.

“Riiiiiiiiiight,” I reply, confused. 

“Can I get my t-shirt back before you go?” Holtz replies. I don’t need to be asked twice. I head back into her bedroom, pull off her t-shirt, and yank on my tank, trying to pretend I don’t have tears in my eyes. I bundle my stuff up into my carry-all, and head back into the lab area.

“So I’m going to head home,” I announce, expecting a reaction from Holtz.

“Mmmmkay.”

“Definitely going now. Thank you for the help.”

“Yep.”

“I’m really going.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. Holtz, I’m leaving. If you want to stop me, now’s the time to do it. Otherwise I’m out of here.”

“I heard ya’.”

“Well, thanks, I guess. See you…” I shoulder my carry-all and descend the stairs. I can’t stop myself from turning my head to look back, but she doesn’t lift her head from her workbench. Guess that’s it then. Lesson learned - don't get involved with a Ghostbuster.


	10. I'm definitely afraid of this ghost...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got to the end - sorry it went on so long, but hopefully some of you enjoyed it!

I storm out of the fire station more aggressively than I intend. I don’t stop to talk to anyone, but I hear Abby yelling about giving Holtz plenty of second chances. As if. As far as I can see, Holtz is some kind of crazy maniac evil bitch wizard, and I have no interest in being strung along anymore.

_**Four months later…** _

I step out of my apartment building to a bright, cloudless day and find her waiting outside for me. She's leaning against Ecto-1, whistling nonchalantly, hands deep in the pockets of her high-waisted, wide-legged pants. Even after all this time the sight of her is like a punch to the stomach.

“Go away, Holtz.”

“I just came to say-“

“I don’t have any interest in what you have to say.”

“But I’ve got a lot-“

“Still not interested.” I descend the stairs and push past her. “Can you leave please?”  
“Where are you going?”

“To the library,” I reply, striding down the street. Holtz follows me all the way there.

“Can you talk to me? They won’t let me in there anymore,” she explains when we arrive. 

“Good,” I reply, and push open the doors.

When I leave the library, she’s still there, leaning against the wall. I head on home, ridiculously aware of her following me. I finally reach my apartment building, and turn around, giving up.

She walks towards me slowly, and a lump forms in my throat. I want to run, but her gaze keeps me rooted to the bottom step, clutching my purse in front of me like a shield. "Come here often?" I ask jokingly, trying for insouciance, but the quiver in my voice gives me away.

"How are ya, kid?" She asks, reaching out to tousle my hair, but stopping mid-movement.

"I'm fine. Same old." I can barely bring myself to look at her.

"No ghosts?"

"No ghosts."

"Sure about that?"

"Pretty sure." We stand there awkwardly for a silent few minutes.

"Maybe I should come in and check? Might as well give you a free consult while I'm here..." She scratches her head and looks away from me.

I bite my lip, considering. I really don't want her in my home, don't want to associate any part of it with her again. It's easier, keeping her - and thoughts of her - at a distance. But now she's right in front of me, so close to me for the first time in months, and all I want is to be near her. I climb back up the steps and unlock the door. "Come on in, Holtz."

She follows me through to the kitchen, and pulls herself up onto the counter. I grab a glass and prep it with ice and a straw before filling it with soda and handing it to her. She takes a deep, appreciative slurp, then grins at me around the straw clutched in her teeth. "Why're you here, Holtz?" I ask directly.

"I was around, in the neighbourhood, as they say,” she replies, tapping her fingers against the glass.

“How long were you waiting?”

Holtz glances down at her watch. “One hour and forty-two… no wait, forty-three minutes.” She peeks at me from under her eyelashes.

“ _Why_ are you here, Holtz?” I ask again. 

“I… uh. Oh hell. I was… I-I thought. I-I missed you.”

I slump against the fridge. “Holtz, you can’t just turn up here like this for no reason. If you want to talk to me, call me. That’s what phones are for.”

“I’m not here for no reason,” she purrs, jumping down off of the counter and pressing me against the fridge. I suck in my breath at her proximity, as she tilts my chin with her finger. Her lips brush mine for an instant, her eyes all mischief, before I regain my senses and push her away.

“No! I am not playing this hot-and-cold game with you again… I had enough of this from you the last time!” I slip out from between her arms and stride across the kitchen to put some much-needed distance between us.

She drops her eyes, chewing on a fingernail. “I’m not playing any… I don’t mean to be “hot-and-cold”. I just thought maybe that we could re-think, at least I re-thought, how we left things…” she trails off, still not meeting my gaze.

I can’t believe she’s doing this again – pulling me in just so that she can push me away. Her being here, it’s re-opening all the old wounds, reminding me of how much it hurt the last time she let me walk away from her. But now she’s here, larger than life in my kitchen, as awkward and manic and beautiful as I’ve ever seen her and it’s making me hopeful, and I have to talk myself down from falling for it, for her, again, when I know so much better. I swallow hard. “Holtz, I told you that if you let me leave, that was it for us. And you did let me leave, and it’s been four months, and now you’re here – no phone call, nothing, for months – what are you thinking?!”

She suddenly seems so small, and when she replies, her voice is quiet and monotone. “I’m thinking that maybe I made a mistake. Probably a big mistake. I… oh jeez,” she swallows hard and seems to sink into herself. “I can’t see how people do this thing where they trust themselves to somebody else because I never trust myself to somebody else, but I know now that I can have friends and that is, based on the evidence, an indisputably good thing. And if I can have friends, then perhaps the possibility of having something, something more, is worth the risk. And I know I hurt you. I’m sorry that I hurt you. But I wanted to test my hypothesis that if pushed, you would go. And you did go, which hurt me too.” She takes a deep breath, still staring at the floor and refusing to look at me. “But Abby said that-that you have to trust people. Not to hurt you. And hurting people to test them is not how this works. So I came here to say-to say- that I want to trust _you_. And I want you to trust me too. Because I think that maybe we – as in you and me- could have something that is good.” She flicks her eyes at me, biting her lip, and her words are like warm honey trickling through me as I realise that this just might be the closest that I get to a declaration of love from the inscrutable, infuriating, Dr Jillian Holtzmann.

"Holtz,” I sigh, melting internally, and in a few short strides she’s pressed against me and her mouth is on mine and I can’t, no matter how hard I try, my fingers laced in her hair, her hands on my hips pulling me closer, I just can’t get enough of her. She tastes like soda and cinnamon, and that scent - her scent - is all around me, intoxicating me, and those four months just slip away, and all I want is her, all of her. 

Her thigh pushes between my legs, hiking my skirt up around my hips. For the first time she’s as receptive to this as I am, groaning against my lips as I pull on her hair. 

We slide to the floor, and she’s yanking off my shirt, her teeth gently closing around my nipple through my bra, and I’m aware that I’m whimpering giddy with relief that I have her back. She trails kisses up and down my neck, her tongue teasing its way along my skin, and I pull off her heavy leather jacket. I’m fumbling with the buttons of her waistcoat, irritated with her layers, and she laughs as I yank it off in frustrations. I’m confronted with a t-shirt, and sigh at her as I yank it over her head. 

“Did you need this many layers? Really?” I complain as I unhook her bra. She moves to cover herself, and I push her hands out of the way, She lets out a whimper as my hands cup her breasts, my thumbs stroking over her swollen nipples. I move my lips over her breast, my tongue flicking over her nipple as I reach down to unbutton her pants with one hand as her hand works its way up under my skirt. She finds the source of my wetness, and I’m moaning as I work my fingers into her and she bucks against my hand. I push my thumb up against her, stroking her in a steady rhythm as she strokes me, and the sound of her crying out against my neck is all it takes to send me over the edge. 

We stare at each other, clothes in disarray, breathing heavily. “Well, that was worth waiting for,” she sighs with a grin, and she’s never looked more beautiful, flushed and sweating on the floor of my kitchen. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” I growl, dragging her by the hand off to my bedroom. 

Later that night, when I’m sure she’s asleep, I drop a kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Dr Holtzmann,” I whisper. I feel her hand close around mine. 

“I love you too, jellybean." 


End file.
